Whimper, Not a Bang
by TheGirlInWonderland
Summary: The confession of between Sherlock and John appeared to most people to be quiet, and in most respects it was. Just not for Sherlock.


The romantic relationship between John and Sherlock started off quietly, without much fanfare. In fact, it seemed to all outside observers that it was just a point on the steady progression of their friendship. Most of those outside observers were surprised when John and Sherlock first ventured into the area of hand holding and kissing. John had long since stopped listening to what the observers said.

The observers also said that if something were to happen, it wouldn't be Sherlock who initiated the relationship. But like most ideas the observers had, this one was also wrong.

Three months after Sherlock's apparent death (a much more dramatic affair involving a gun, John threatening to kill many people, a wrestling match over aforementioned gun, and one shot fired that shattered Sherlock's beloved friend Skully) all was calm again, or as calm as they could be. Sherlock was playing a piece on the violin (Meditation, from the opera Thais) and John was slowly being absorbed into the couch, idly watching the telly, completely inert, except for the few times he raised his arm to change the channel.

Suddenly, the soothing music stopped. John's eyes flickered up briefly before returning to the flickering box before him. Sherlock set down his violin and moved quickly to stand behind the television. Again, John's eyes flashed to him, but the sight of Sherlock with messy bedhead in his dressing gown was not enough to capture his attention for more than a few moments.

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly.

John's eyes didn't move. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"John."

"Mhmm?"

"Could you please turn off the television?"

John's eyebrows pushed together once in confusion before he clicked the remote. The flat fell quiet and dark.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Sherlock was confused. He knew that people felt flustered about the topic of love. He himself exhibited all of the typical signs, elevated pulse, dilated eyes, flushed skin. But here they were in the dark room, revealing romantic affection, and John seemed to be completely calm.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Do you understand what I said? I said that I love you."

John sighed. Sherlock could hear the exasperation. "I know Sherlock. I said I love you too."

Sherlock began feeling an emotion that he usually associated with Anderson, not John, that emotion being frustration.

Sherlock took one long stride to the couch. He placed his long legs on either side of John's thighs and sat down on John's lap. He could feel John's hot breath on his lips.

"Did you understand me John? I said that I love you. I love you like Lestrade loves his wife, not like how brothers love each other. I want to kiss and touch you all over and I would like it very much if I could fuck you silly."

John blinked a few times. "I understand perfectly well Sherlock, and the feeling is entirely mutual."

Sherlock growled. "But you're so calm about this! Attraction is supposed to drive people mad, John, absolutely mad! Every time that I see you, I exhibit all of the typical signs, do you know how utterly terrifying it is, being at the mercy of emotions? And I- I- I-" Sherlock stopped the stream of babble abruptly.

"You what, Sherlock?"

"I…" his voice trailed into a whisper.

"What was that?"

"I wank," Sherlock said a bit louder, face flushed entirely red.

John's eyebrows met in his forehead again, once, before his face was smooth. "Is that so?"

Sherlock nodded.

"And you think I don't?"

"But you're so _calm_. How do you do it?"

John moved his face closer to Sherlock's. Sherlock's breath hitched.

"You forget that I am soldier. I can handle myself under stress."

Sherlock squirmed, attempting to get away from John. But John's arms kept them pressed against each other.

"John, let go," Sherlock said, wriggling away unsuccessfully.

"Why?"

"Because you're going to reject me and I'm going to seem foolish and you are going to think I'm ridiculous, which will lose me my only friend, because Skully isn't around anymore."

"Sherlock, haven't you been listening to me? I said that I love you too. I love you like Lestrade loves his wife and I would quite like to fuck you silly."

Sherlock stilled in his efforts to break John's iron grip. "Really?"

John chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through their bodies. "Really."

Sherlock returned to his original position, straddling John. "Then, you wouldn't mind if I kissed you?"

John slowly moved his arms up Sherlock's waist, his chest, before he clasped his hands together behind his flatmate's neck. "I wouldn't mind."

Sherlock shifted his head closer to John, then hesitated. "Are you sure?"

John sighed, his breath encasing Sherlock in a cloud of mint and tea. "Generally, when someone says that they would like to fuck the other person silly that implies that that someone would also like to kiss that other person."

Sherlock nodded and moved forward another half-inch. "I mean, are you-"

The rest of Sherlock's words came out in a garbled mush not worth recording. Talking when someone else's lips are mushed against your own is rather difficult."

* * *

Author's Note: Meditation from Thais does sound really cool, if you want to check it out. I played it in band (the third clarinet part isn't that exciting) but since we didn't have any violins, the flutes played the melody.


End file.
